Chapter Text
There is an Ava Daniels shaped hole left in Deborah’s life, she doesn’t want to admit it but there is. She started to see the shape of it as she began to find little things Ava forgot in her haste to pack up and leave. She’d left an incriminating trail to an increasingly obvious fact: Deborah missed her. Missed her in a way that made everything feel raw, and her mood sour.
Finding Ava’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle themed toothbrush still in the guest bathroom has her choking up a little (which only makes her want to yell more, almost brought to tears over a cartoon character toothbrush? What is wrong with her?).
The matcha powder in her kitchen cabinet is mocking her every morning, and she’d found scrunchies stuck between couch cushions, under tables, and most concerningly, tucked in between her duvet and the top sheet. Probably left there from late night writing sessions.
The reminder of Ava’s existence in her bed feels too large an ache to really comprehend.
The space between them now deescalates the usual default feelings of annoyance she’d have at Ava’s delightful ability to leave a trail of shit behind her wherever she goes, a tiny tornado of forgetful evidence. She could have tracked Ava through her house like a hunter tracks a deer, telling you what kind of lunch she’d had based on the tofurkey cold cuts she’d left out and the avocado remnants she’d forgotten to wipe off the counter.
What would normally spiral into a little tantrum on Deborah’s part (not that she’d ever call it that to Ava’s face, would never give her the satisfaction) now just devolves into an empty outline of the space Ava had taken up in her life.
It aches now that she notices the emptiness, she aches for someone to share all this space with. Because holy fuck this house is big. She’d known it when she bought it, she’d known it when it was just her, Cara and Barry sleeping here regularly; but it is glaringly obvious now. She’s known this house full to its brim now, with the chaos brought by one ADHD ridden, bisexual, zillenial, and she is gobsmacked to learn she prefers it that way.
Loud and a little messy, proof that there was someone here, someone to bother when she left dishes on the counter, someone to scold when they leave the CO2 tank empty in the soda fountain, someone to crawl into her bed under the pretense of work just so they’d fall asleep next to each other. (Why had she let her get away with that?)(Deborah knows the answer, but it only makes her feel worse).
Deborah hadn’t even seen it happening, the way Ava had wormed her way into her life and became someone she confided in. It was thrilling, finding someone who could finally match her mean streak. Who pushed her to be better, even when she kicked and screamed, flailed and pulled the kind of cruel antics that had been keeping everyone at a safe distance so effectively all this time.
What had started as an almost-rivalry had warped into friendship. Somewhere along the line, she can’t pinpoint exactly when (somewhere between the pool and the roof), it had grown into something even more than that.
All the more reason to have done what she did that night, to cut her free, so that she could grow unencumbered by the weight of Deborah’s affection.
In desperate moments of clarity, when she’d turned the bus around, cradled her in the pool as she floated, or re-scheduled several critical business meetings to show up at her fathers funeral to hold her hand; she’d passed it off as Ava being a reminder of a past version of herself. Some part of that, a small part was true. Ava was 25, brilliant and totally unsure of her own worth, not entirely unlike herself at that age. But more than that, larger than any feeling of retrospective protectiveness, is adoration.
Because Deborah does adore Ava, but more than that, she respects her. It’s horrible, wonderful, and true. If there is any other word that might describe what she feels for her, it’s the kind of word best left unsaid. Maybe it’s petulance that keeps her from reaching out, more than that though it feels like fear. That gut twisting anxiety when something really good presents itself in her life and before she knows it she’s back filming a TV pilot and all her dreams are coming true. Her husband, daughter and sister wave at her from the wings and they’re smiling, everything is clicking into place before crumbling from under her faster than she can process.
So, if there is any other word to describe how she feels about Ava, (and there is), it’s the kind of word she tucks away and doesn’t think about.
The first week of her absence, Deborah finds her laundry folded on the bed, brought back from the cleaners. There’s a hoodie she shouldn’t recognize, folded neatly, hood tucked around it to keep its square shape. It’s Ava’s, because of course it is, the universe has been taunting her with little reminders.
It’s hard not to sink into the memory of the night it ended up in her laundry bin. They’d been watching Criminal Intent, and she’d bent the rules of no beverages on the bed for Ava’s mug of hot chocolate. Deborah already knew it would end up staining the sheets or on her rug, but found herself unable to say no to those big round eyes looking up at her pleadingly.
When it ends up spilled down the front of her hoodie, Deb just looks at her knowingly and Ava smiles guiltily. She’s stripping without thought, pulling the hoodie over her head to reveal the thinnest tank top Deborah’s ever seen. Her nipples tighten in the cool air of the AC, pressing against the cotton revealingly. Her muscles smooth out under her skin as she throws the hoodie on the floor and puts her arms down, and when she catches Deborah’s eyes on her, her chest rises sharply with an intake of air. Pinkening under her gaze.
Hunger, that’s what it had felt like. Imagined sinking her teeth into her bicep, her shoulders, kissing her neck, imagined Ava whimpering as Deborah sucked over her nipple and pinched the other between her fingers cruelly. How hard would she blush then?
Everything feels hazy, can’t make herself tear her eyes away from her chest, the flatness of her stomach, those tiny little gym shorts. Ava had knelt on the bed, still and observant, presenting herself to Deborah’s watchful eyes. Deborah wants to know what she looks like when she crawls towards her. Wants to know what she sounds like when she begs. Ava’s eyes are pleading, Deborah can see the way she longs to do whatever is asked of her. It’s a guilt she carries, that she knows Ava wants her (how could she not know? When Ava looks at her like that).
Instead she chastises her for the cocoa spill and tells her to throw her hoodie in the laundry bin instead of on the floor.
Ava looks momentarily crushed before doing exactly what was asked of her.
Presently, Deborah puts the hoodie in the growing pile of belongings left behind.
//
The bulbs in the vanity seem to be overcompensating today, it’s giving her a fucking migraine, squinting to make up for their overzealous brightness. Or maybe she’s just in a bad mood, that is probably more likely.
Marcus answers emails quietly, the rhythmic sound of him typing is the only background besides the usual backstage chatter floating in through the door of the green room. It’s not nerves that she gets before shows anymore, it’s more of a restless energy that accumulates as she runs through the set mentally. Smoothing out lines and filling in phrasing, a background hum of thought.
“Ava called me this morning,” Marcus says, breaking her inner monologue off as she tunes back into the room.
He says it casually, like they all hadn't been tap dancing around Ava’s name for months now, just to avoid pissing her off (which truly just pisses her off more).
“Is that right?” She replies, hoping for a breezy nonchalance in her tone that will convey just how little this excites her. She almost misses the little quirk of Marcus’ brow, it's gone before she can blink. Curse him and his flawless ability to see through her.
“Go on, you look like you're dying to spill,” Deborah prompts him. He scoffs and she glares at him through the mirror. His position just behind her, peering at her through the reflection, used to be filled by Ava; she has a hard time not resenting him when the wrong face reflects back.
“She asked if you found a pair of her socks? The yellow ones?”
“With the sunny side up eggs on them?” She asks and he nods, looking predictably surprised at her. She’d found them under the bed, god knows why they were there in the first place.
“I’ll give them to Damien to mail out.”
Marcus frowns, it's odd to see his face flipped in the reflection, his mouth curves lower on his right side instead of his left. He looks disappointed.
“She asked how you were doing, and I realized I realized I didn't know what to say,” Marcus says quietly, looking at her pensively, as if searching her face for a giveaway, god he’d be good at poker.
“I’m as good as I always am,” she says dismissively.
“Not as good as you were,” Marcus pauses, pushing the words around in his mouth like he’s unsure if he should push, before deciding to anyway, “not as good as you were with her.”
It’s Deborah’s turn to frown.
“Since when have you had a nice thing to say about that girl?”
She looks down at the hair and makeup products in front of her, grabs the hairspray and puts one final coat on her hair, the particles float and shimmer as they catch the light of the vanity. When they disperse, Marcus still looks frustrated.
“Do you think it's not true?” He asks disbelievingly.
“Of course it isn't, she was an employee, Marcus, you know very well how many people I’ve fired. This is far from my first disappointment.”
“If she had been just an employee, you would have fired her after she violated your NDA. But you didn't.”
“No. I didn't.” It feels almost like an admission.
“As much as it deeply pains me to admit, even I had gotten kind of fond of her,” Marcus admits softly, “She was sort of charming in the end.”
“You make it sound like she died,” Deborah scoffs
“Oh, come on. Don’t pretend like she hasn’t been a touchy subject for you.”
He’s shut his laptop now, which means he means business. Deborah’s trying her best to look unaffected, if it’s succeeding it’s very mildly, she mostly just looks tired. She is tired, tired of touring and the press. Even if it’s the most fun she’s had in ages, even if this is the most positive buzz she’s accrued since they early goddamn two thousands.
“It’s okay to be a little lonely, I mean, she lived with you for a while, you toured together. It’s gotta be a little weird to have her suddenly gone,” he says.
It’s not coming from a place of pity, he’s concerned. Genuinely. It’s almost worse that way. That means people can tell. They’ve noticed how every seat beside her became Ava’s, how she hung around Deborah like a moon stuck in orbit.
“I am not lonely.” It sounds hollow, even as it comes out of her mouth, and Marcus sends her a pointed look.
“What else is this mood you're in? And you can't say seasonal depression, Las Vegas has one season.”
She has to give him credit for the way the laugh breaks out of her, more a guffaw than a real chuckle, and he looks awfully pleased with himself. Deborah rolls her eyes.
“Paint me as a lovesick fool if you want, just mail back her damn socks.”
“Love?” Marcus asks, eyebrows raising. She sighs.
“It’s a turn of phrase, Marcus.”
He’s opening his laptop again, and it feels like his way of ending the conversation defiantly. Deborah scoffs.
“I suppose, I had grown fond of her too.”
It’s absolutely an admittance this time, he looks over his screen to look back at her in the mirror with a knowing smile. Sometimes she reckons he must know her just about as well as she knows herself. It’s a little freaky, especially when she’s sure she knows him just as well. As much as he is entirely business minded, hearty and hard working; he is equally kind. They’re similar in the ways they show it.
“Give back her damn socks yourself.”
Deborah smiles back at him, this is one of those kindness’.
//
“Seriously. It’s fine I understand that the venue doesn’t have a baby grand. I just feel like if we told them they were missing out on the musical prowess of Deborah Vance Jr, they might change their minds. That’s all.” Dj scoffs, Deborah honestly can’t tell when she’s joking and when she’s dead serious. It’s one of her best qualities.
“I just don’t know if we could get the rights for so much John Williams is all,” Deborah says
“It’s not my fault that's the one book that stupid teacher used,” DJ quips back.
“He was expensive !”
“Expensive doesn’t always mean good , mother.”
“I suppose you're right.”
Half of their phone calls could be categorized as arguments, it’s a love language. Deborah’s sure of it.
“Have you uh, heard anything from Ava?”
She’s been working up to the question all night. It’s stupid, the way her stomach turns in half dread, half excitement.
“Nooope. No. I’m not playing Postal Service for y’alls mess, I know you know we talk,” DJ says and she’s gotta give it to her. AA did give her some excellent boundary setting skills.
“Damn. Worth a shot.”
“All I can give you is that she asks about you too. Buck up and text her, she’s dying for it,” DJ’s voice suddenly sounds far away and she can hear her move the phone away to say something to Aidan.
“Ah shit. I gotta go, we’re just starting 'expecting couple’s yoga' and Aidan is not taking the matching outfits seriously.”
Deborah snorts. God, she loves this girl.
“Alright honey. Glad we could chat for a while,” Deborah says.
She’s been trying to make more effort with Dj, to remind her she cares. It feels a little too late for it some days, but that’s been her excuse for decades now. It's for the betterment of both of them, so she does it anyway.
“Love you, Ma.”
“Love ya.”
Ava asked about her too. It shouldn’t matter, but it’s buzzing around in her brain and she feels the restless energy of indecision in her hands and her chest. Ava asked about her too.
//
Deborah hadn’t even meant to come here, she’s never been one to drop by unannounced. She’d started driving to the UPS store, an annoyingly large box of Ava’s forgotten things in tow, she’d missed a turn and before she quite knew why, she was in front of the store. It’s not quite as familiar as the shop in Sedona but four hours is a bit of a stretch for a not quite purposeful road trip.
Deborah’s not entirely sure she believes in any of this stuff, the crystals, the cards, the divine. It’s one of those foggy gray areas that used to bother her more when she was younger, used to sit up at night with the weight of God pressing on her chest, old memories of oak wood pews, her parents' names. The weight of shame.
It’s an old memory now, long discarded for a healthy mix of respect and confusion, she doesn’t dwell on the unanswered truths that haunted her 20’s and 30’s. Has released that need for control, at least, in this particular area of her life.
She finds herself much more at ease in the smokey smell of Nadine’s shop, the sound of shuffling cards and the hum of some cleansing tone playing lightly in the back. It doesn’t matter if it’s right, just that it helps. Reflection is a rarity in her daily life, filled to the brim with scheduled activity, rigid nightly routines, early wake ups, rinse and repeat. Taking a moment here to look back is novel. There’s no need for one Godly truth, just the warm feeling of the universe looking out for her.
Nadine shuffles until three cards slip out of the deck of their own volition, maybe it’s her frantic shuffling that dislodges them, maybe it’s fate, Deborah doesn’t care. Nadine pauses for a moment, arranging the cards next to each other before pulling her braids up out of her face with a huff.
“Well damn Ms. Vance, you’ve been busy since you last saw me, huh?” Nadine teases with a smile as she looks over the cards. Deborah chuckles.
“You could say that.”
“Not me, the cards,” she says, gesturing to the three that lay in front of her, “I think we’ll keep it simple today, you seem on edge.”
“I am not .” Oh wow. Way to play it cool. Nadine raises her eyebrows and laughs, a big hearty thing that shakes the jewelry on her chest so it jingles in tandem with it. Deborah can't help but join in.
“As per usual, you're right,” Deborah admits with a friendly roll of the eyes.
“Not me, the cards.”
“You got me there.”
And so, Nadine begins. She hums, low and throaty as she observes the cards.
“We’ll start with Judgement, which stands upright. This represents something in your recent past, a snap decision you made, perhaps to keep yourself safe. In some cases it means you’ve achieved clarity, but I get the feeling it's something you're currently working toward. This card asks you to rise above judgment and pursue open communication even when it’s hard.” She pauses, thumbing a dark black string of crystals, smoothed into pretty oblong beads. “Mmm, letting go of old hurts so you can move forward with clarity. It's a hard task, very worth it in the end. This card often finds you during times of decision to ask you to use what you’ve learnt to carve a new path, instead of falling into old habits.”
Deborah sighs, Nadine is good, that’s why she comes here. Even when it's uncomfortable, especially when it's true. Nadine looks at her expectantly, usually by now she’s shared with the class how this connects to her life, but this feels particularly intimate. Something she’s just barely come to accept herself.
“There’s a woman,” Deborah says finally, and receives a warm smile from across the table, “I made her leave right when I wanted her to stay, because it scared me, how good we were together.”
Nadine nods in agreement. A lower tone rings out quietly through the studio and theres a heavy feeling starting in her gut and she takes a deep breath of sandalwood and orange peel that perfumes the air.
“I understand, it's hard to let new love in when old love has harmed you.”
“Yeah, yes it is.” Deborah breathes shakily “I do love her though, not that I told her that.”
It’s the first time she’s said it out loud, or maybe even let herself think it without locking it away with other things she is not ready to handle. She loves Ava. Oh fuck, she loves Ava.
“Maybe you should change that,” Nadine says with a sad smile.
“I think it’s a little late for that.”
“That’s not what the cards think,” she says with a decisive nod down at the spread. She taps her nail against the next card, “Six of Swords, the woman and child are steered to clearer waters, you can see the water is choppy from where they came. This card indicates progress, moving through struggle. It often signifies that better times are ahead if you work for it.”
“It’s not that simple, it never is,” Deborah says quietly. Nadine nods in agreement.
“I never said anything about simple, the good things rarely are. Lifes a bitch that way.”
Deborah can’t help the bitter laugh.
“She’s better off where she is, honestly. She was my writer, a really goddamn good one. She would’ve stayed with me until I croaked. Wasted her talent away with me.”
“You are awfully pessimistic,” Nadine says with a sigh.
It’s the truth, of course it is. She’s been pessimistic since the universe decided optimism would only get her halfway to the finish line. Optimism had gotten Deborah almost all the way to a talk show, almost all the way to a happy family, almost but not fucking quite. It still makes her blood boil, it eats her up. She wishes it didn’t, could just move forward like the cards want her to, like she wants to.
“What is the optimistic way to look at that? Oh thank god I’d have a belligerent twenty six year old tailing me with a matcha latte and a quip about political correctness until I die?”
“Well, she wouldn’t always be twenty six.”
“Oh you know what I mean.”
“I do, but I don’t know if I agree.”
Deborah huffs. Damn it Nadine, she’s one of those rare people in her life who aren’t afraid to tell her the truth. They’re few and far between, when you’ve accrued this much money and name recognition people suddenly lie to you a lot more. No one tells you when something is a bad idea if they’ll make some money off of you making it. Ava never minced her words, it had been one of her favorite, and least favorite qualities of hers.
“I know you’re right, I just don’t like it,” Deborah finally responds, deciding to stick with the uncomfortable truth.
“Never asked you to like it, just to trust the cards.”
“I trust you ,” Deborah says and Nadine smiles, not just with her lips but with her eyes, round, brown and loving.
It feels like the kind of smile that comes not just from Nadine but from the universe, it smiles knowingly at her as she squirms uncomfortably in the hot seat. She’s never done all too well with introspection. Too quickly it snowballs into self loathing, a ritualistic flogging of her own back, past mistakes, an infinite amount of rusted fuck ups, bad mother, bad wife, bad comedian, bad boss. Bad. She was bad. She was doomed. She deserved the empty, echoey house she came home to at the end of the day.
“Where’d you just go?” Nadine interrupts the spiral of doom and Deborah blinks back to reality.
“How do I know that this isn’t what I deserve?” Deborah asks, she’s being uncharacteristically forthcoming today, she can tell Nadine is surprised but eager to work with what she’s been given.
“Funny you ask that because next in our lineup is the Four of Cups,” she says, tapping the last card in their spread, “The man sits against the tree, gazing at the three empty cups, he is so focused on their emptiness he does not look for the hand of the divine holding out another cup for him to take. When we are stuck in our past, in our disappointment. How we’ve been hurt, how we’ve hurt others, we often ignore the good that is offered to us. You’re protecting yourself from hurt, but you’re also keeping yourself from anything new, good or bad,” Nadine pauses for a moment, fiddling again with one of the many necklaces dangling from her neck.
“You’ve come to me for a good while now Ms. Vance, you’ve always paid more than I ask, taken my words to heart, and despite your occasionally frosty demeanor, you’ve always been kind. I don’t know you any better than the cards know you, but I can tell you this. You don’t deserve to be alone. The cards don’t have to tell me that for me to know it to be true.”
Another deep tone rings through the studio and Deborah can feel a hot tear slide over her cheek, followed by another, which she hastily wipes away with the back of her hand. That warm, swelling feeling presses at the inside of her body like she’s filled to the brim with humming energy. She shuts her eyes with a breathy sigh, sniffing lightly. When she blinks back Nadine is looking at her kindly.
“This is why I always pay more than you ask,” Deborah laughs a little tearfully, “You’re very good at what you do, Nadine.” Deborah smiles back and hopes it feels just as warm and thankful as Nadine’s had.
“Let’s have a cup of tea, hey? Give you some time to process.”
“That would be very nice, thank you.”
After, when she’s driving home in the comfortable silence of her Rolls Royce, she does not stop to drop off Ava’s package.
//
“Anything you want from me is already yours.”
Ava’s thumb soothes little circles into Deborah’s cheek.
“You can't say that.”
She shouldn’t, if Ava means it, that means Deborah can be selfish finally and ask her to stay this time, at least for a little while. To figure out what life should look like when they finally get to be partners. Not the boss and an employee, not a comic and a writer. Just Deborah and Ava.
“It's the truth.”
Ava looks up at her with stars in her eyes, they’re back in orbit. The way they were always meant to be. It feels like magic to share this vulnerability with her, something certainly otherworldly. God why is the Universe usually right? Working for it just makes the inevitable victory feel that much more sweet.
It’s hard not to be distracted the rest of the night, Deborah can't stop thinking of Ava’s eyes in the soft light of the backyard. Her unfettered honesty was so bright she swears she could see the blue aura swirling around Ava’s head.
The smell of her cologne on her wrists as she’d kissed Ava’s palm, a promise sealed with a kiss. Deborah was going to be better than the scared iteration that lived on the rooftop months ago, she wasn't going to push Ava out of her life this time, what good had that done her? Months of sulking at half energy, driven crazy by longing like some sappy repressed-queer-cliche.
It was time to move on, move towards the good things the universe offered her, and damn it if Ava hadn't offered herself quite clearly.
The effort it takes to mingle this evening is ridiculous, wants to get on the table and yell through a bullhorn that everyone needs to fucking leave . Deborah has important business to attend to, namely, kissing the hell out of one Ava Daniels. Since that doesn't really present itself as a genuine option, she opts to keep Ava in view, searching for her red hair in the crowd as she mingles and chats like a good hostess.
Kathy is here. She hears her through the crowd, something inside her zeros in on her greeting DJ warmly. Deborah knew she’d be here, DJ had actually okayed it with her before even sending out an invite. Which had made her feel a little patronized, but mostly just touched that she’d thought ahead. She can be a grown up for tonight, she can. She can do this for DJ, there will be no scene, no anything at all.
Kathy is touching Ava. She can see it when she pulls through the crowd towards her voice. DJ is introducing them and she sees Ava chuckle. It’s probably an awkward laugh, something to dispel the tension between someone who had almost been hit by a car and a person who had been inside said vehicle but not behind the wheel. It was probably nothing at all.
Deborah feels venomous. Feels possessed by this newly flowering protective urge to reach out and put her hand on Ava somewhere, between the shoulder blades, a touch at the small of her waist. Anything that said mine .
Which is stupid. It’s so stupid in fact that it’s begun making sense.
She stops just short, keeping herself planted in place, watching a little obviously from afar. Ava must have that shivering feeling you get when someone has stared at you for a little too long because she’s turning to catch Deborah’s eyes. She steps just out of Kathy’s grasp, where she had reached out to touch a bit of delicate embroidery on the lapels of her vest. Kathy looks a little confused before looking back at where she stood, and her hand drops out of the air.
Seeming to regain movement of her limbs, Deborah pushes on towards the group, DJ looking panicked, Ava looks concerningly in awe.
“Kathy,” Deborah regards her with a tight smile, it shouldn’t delight her that her baby sister looks scared out of her skin, but it does. Just a little.
“Deb, It’s good to-”
“It’s Deborah.” She lets her words end Kathy’s platitudes prematurely.
“It’s good to see you, Deborah.”
Kathy for her part stands her ground, as much as it should perturb her, it mostly makes her a little proud.
“I’ve seen you for worse reasons.” It’s the nicest thing she can think to say.
Now was not the time for re opening emotional wounds dramatically. It was the time to celebrate new life, a life her daughter had spent a year trying for, a year of oddly timed phone calls with DJ sounding crestfallen on the other end.
“Mom, Kathy,” DJ warns lightly
“Don’t be dramatic, I’ve been instructed to play nice and I will,” she says with a pinched look of indignance.
Deborah’s surprised to feel Ava’s hand looping around her arm comfortingly, her presence makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up and everything feels sharp and crystal clear for once in her life. The anger, once present in the forefront of her vision, swimming behind her eyes and boiling up to the surface, fizzles out to a low simmer.
“We have a cake to cut, don’t we sweetheart?” she points the question at Dj who nods vigorously, continuing the conversation where she’d clearly left off before Deborah’s entrance.
Ava’s gate falls in line with hers, keeping her arm around Deborah’s sweetly. It’s probably too much too soon, she’d caught the confused but excited look on DJ’s face when Ava had reached out for her. It makes her wonder distantly what else DJ had kept from her, in her stint as a double agent between them.
They haven’t spoken more than the words exchanged in the garden, but Deborah feels confident with Ava on her arm. It makes Kathy’s presence bearable, especially when she shoots Deb a goofy look and mouths ‘Holy Fuck’ like she also can’t believe how this night is playing out. She looks rather sharp in a dark pair of pleated trousers, a crisp white button up, and a striking vest with embroidered flowers snaking up the lapels. Her shirt is open so her usual layer of chains show, with an added gold one dangling a rather pretty chunk of stone wrapped delicately in wire.
“Is that a D'Jewelry piece?” Deborah says as they walk towards the kitchen, Ava blinks up at her with a smile.
“Yeah! I think DJ really nailed this one!” She smiles, adjusting its placement on her chest proudly.
Something swells inside of Deborah, a warmth like a rising tide that hits her ankles and sloshes up her calves before receding.
“It’s lovely on you,” She says, shooting her a warm smile. Ava smiles back in a way that makes her eyes crinkle a little and it's so much different than the panicked look she’d had on when Deborah had first glared her way, she could get whiplash.
Ava blushes a lovely shade of pink, and Deborah wants her. Can feel it settle heavy on her chest like the night with the spilled hot cocoa. It overwhelms any feeling of concern she should have about Ava hanging off her at a very public event, shooting her the most obvious puppy dog eyes for the whole gathering to see.
They’re in the dining room when Ava finally untangles herself from Deborah’s side with a remorseful huff as they find their assigned seats. The rest of the night is spent trying not to find her way back to Ava’s side, she mingles respectfully and chats with DJ and tries not to think about what being called grandma is going to do for her psyche. With her luck DJ will have them calling her something made up like Gigi or something else horrible, and she’s gonna have to pretend not to love it.
By the time everyone is squared away in the cars and headed home it’s starting to get dark and the house feels starkly empty after being filled to its brim for a brief moment. She can hear the scuff-tap of Ava’s dress shoes on the tile. Different from the dull thud of her boots Deborah had become used to announcing her presence, but it’s her gate nonetheless.
“Everyone finally cleared out? I swear Madame Mayor sticks around late cause she likes to piss Damien off,” Ava says with a giggle and Deborah huffs out a laugh.
“I think it might be a prerequisite to the position of Mayor of Las Vegas to have no idea of when the party ends,” Deborah says with a smile.
When she meets Ava’s eyes, she feels a buzz of nerves thrill through her. Ava’s smile is bright and cheesy, and she’s asked her to stay . Why had she done that? Now there’s pressure and she’s going to have to come up with something to say, an apology or a plea. It floods her with a panic she is not entirely unfamiliar with, it’s like stage fright. The horrible black hole of doubt that used to swirl up before every show, up until the moment her heel hit the stage. She hasn’t felt that in a while, the pressure to perform. To want to do something well so badly it chews you up and spits you out.
She’s been quiet for too long and Ava’s begun to notice, she’s fidgeting with her hands, she looks a bit like a deer caught in headlights.
“D, I know we-” she cuts herself off “I’m sorry, Deborah-” It’s Deborah’s turn to cut her off.
“No, it’s okay. It’s fine when you call me that, Kathy just… hasn’t earned the right.”
There’s something so sweet about the gesture, at Ava’s want to respect her wishes about not shortening her name, but she realizes suddenly just how much she’d miss the familiarity of the nickname. It felt right when she said it.
“And I have?”
This is where, classically, she’d make a Deborah Vance certified pivot, and joke her way out of a heavy conversation. Instead she finds herself leaning in.
“Yes, you have.”
She pauses, taking a nervous breath that she’d never let anyone else hear. The way her voice shakes with the weight of the truth.
“I didn’t like seeing her touch you.”
The words arrive into the world for Ava to do with them as she pleases, it’s an invitation to finally talk about this unspoken thing between them. She’d been prepared for Kathy’s arrival, she’d been ready to ignore and placate and get through. An old wound had reopened as Kathy had reached out to touch Ava, a possessive, jealous thing picked at.
“Why?” Ava asks, her voice holding the same breathy nervousness as Deborah’s.
“When I want something, she tends to take them from me.”
“You want me?”
There’s a silence, Ava gazes at her with wide eyes, and Deborah can tell how badly she wants to be wanted. For someone to need her, to push past her abrasive, self deprecating outer shell and scoop her into their arms. It’s a familiar need she often feels echoed in herself. She can do that, for Ava she’d do anything. It’d been that way even before she understood why.
“I do.”
It hangs between them.
“All you have to do is ask,” she says, and Deborah smiles tearily. She usually feels embarrassed in moments like these, when she opens herself up to show her soft insides to someone, but there’s something in Ava’s face that puts her at ease. Maybe it’s the kind smile, or her fidgeting hands, telling Deborah just how nervous she is as well.
Deborah reaches out to take her hand, the same one she’d kissed by the watershed, and kisses it again with purpose. Presses another to her throbbing pulse point on the inside of her wrist and Ava gasps like she’s been shocked. Deborah pulls her closer until they’re hip to hip, putting Ava’s hand over her shoulder and leaning in so they almost touch. They breathe like that for a moment, close but not enough, Ava’s breath against her cheeks.
“Can I kiss you?” Deborah asks quietly.
The breath rushes out of Ava in a whiney exhale sets Deborah alight, every nerve ending firing off with honest longing.
“ Yes. ”
Deborah closes the tiny space between their mouths to kiss her and she’s unbearably soft. She kisses back with certainty, looping her arms fully around Deborah’s shoulders to keep her close. Ava’s cologne is in her nose and the roof of her mouth, warm and spiced and she needs Ava closer . As close as they can get.
It’s polite for as long as they can manage, closed mouth and sweet as Deborah tries to convey months of longing through one press of her lips. Until Ava makes a needy noise against her mouth and it makes her whole body shudder. Runs her hands over Ava’s shoulder blades and neck to curl into her hair to tug her closer, slotting their mouths together so she can taste the champagne sweetness of her mouth. Ava whimpers again, sounding wrecked completely already. Deborah has barely even touched her, and oh lord does she want to touch her.
The soft sound of surprise Ava makes when Deborah walks her back until she’s pressed against the table in the entrance way sends shivering heat up her spine. They kiss the whole way, and when she lifts Ava to set her between the two marble busts they laugh as Ava bangs her elbow into one of them with a yelp, breaking their mouths apart. She makes a disgruntled noise of pain before pulling Deborah back in so they can kiss again, a filthy thing as she curls her legs around her to keep Deborah close.
One hand finds the nape of her neck, running her fingers through the softness of Deborah’s hair like she’s been waiting to do so. It's the kind of kiss Deborah’s dreamt of and woken wet and wanting. The kind of kiss that makes her head spin. Deborah unbuttons her vest, popping each button with ease, slipping her hands between the layers to feel the warmth of her body through her dress shirt, snakes her hand to rest on the small of Ava’s back. She pulls back to kiss over her jaw that pulls the neediest noise she’s ever heard out of her.
Ava’s hands slide greedily over Deborah’s sides and she’s shivering and gasping as Deborah mouths over a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. Lets herself get lost in the feeling of Ava, pliant under her, palms her ass to pull their hips together and she can feel the way Ava begins to grind into her stomach. They need to be horizontal now.
“Oh, ouCH!” Ava yelps and she’s sliding off the table with a groan. “Fuck, sorry, the nose of that lady just lodged itself in between my third and fourth rib and as much as I want you to keep kissing me it hurts like a bitch,” Ava is rambling, it’s as endearing as it always has been and Deborah can’t help but smile at her. “What?” she asks nervously.
“I did miss you,” Deborah says, lacing their hands together, “I should have told you myself.”
It’s Ava’s turn to smile, and she leans up to give her the sweetest kiss Deborah has ever had the pleasure of receiving.
Then she’s being dragged rather gracelessly into the formal living room so Ava can crowd her down onto the settee and straddle her lap, the weight of her against Deborah’s hips makes everything feel real for a moment. She is kissing the hell out of her significantly younger, former employee, on her decorative couch, in her formal living room. It should be sobering, she should feel the cold jolt of reality that usually hits her when she gets what she wants. The slow creep of anxiety that nothing could last forever, how hopeless it is to try to hold sand in your hands, how cruel life can be when you least expect it.
All she can focus on is the slow grind of Ava’s hips, the softness of her mouth, her needy noises of pleasure as Deborah lets her hands roam over her. She pushes off Ava’s vest and hears it land on the floor behind them, hastily untucks her shirt from her dress pants so she can slide her hands up the flat of Ava’s back. She feels so real, warm and needy in her lap. When they pull back Ava is panting, looking completely flustered and blushing an impressive shade of pink.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” she whispers, leaning back in to kiss at Deborah’s jaw playfully.
“Hmm, do tell,” Deborah sighs and she can feel Ava’s smile as she kisses down her neck and nuzzles against the soft skin of her chest.
“After Seven Graces I dreamt you kissed me.” Her mouth does not stop its eager mapping of Deborah’s throat, licks over the hollow of her collarbones which pulls a tiny gasp out of her.
“It wasn’t even scandalous, you just woke up and kissed me good morning.” Ava sounds almost shy, in brazen contrast to the confidence of her hands, which tug off her blazer so she can continue kissing her shoulders.
“ Ava .” She can’t help the little moan.
“When I woke up I rubbed my clit and imagined you watching me, telling me to keep going, to make myself feel good,” Ava whispers, tugging the lobe of her ear in her mouth to nip between her teeth and Deborah is pulling her in by her hips greedily so they press together in a way that's almost painful.
“I came so hard I had to ask the cleaning service for new sheets.”
Deborah swears she can hear the pleased smile in her voice.
“Oh fuck , I gotta touch you baby, can I touch you?” It rushes out of her before she can think twice about how frantic it sounds.
“ Please ,” Ava sighs into her mouth as they kiss again, Deborah’s hands are making quick work of the buttons on her shirt and it’s joining her vest on the floor. She pulls back to examine the freshly exposed skin. She’s got little heart shaped nude pasties on and Ava’s grinning stupidly down at her as she peels them off.
“I thought about you constantly. Everything reminded me of you and it drove me mad,” she admits and Ava smiles a little shyly, “It's so much better when you're right here, when I can touch you. When I can see you.” Deborah hums, “You are so beautiful,” Deborah sighs appraisingly, running her hands up her ribs until her thumbs rest against the curl of her ribs, just under her breasts, framing them like a corset. Ava squirms impatiently at the compliment, the color raising onto her chest.
“I was worried you wouldn't think of me at all,” Ava admits guiltily.
“All the time, Ava. All the time,” Deborah murmurs into her skin as she leans forward to kiss her chest, aiming for the soft skin over where her heart lies. Kissing over her breasts, and sucking her nipple into her mouth to tease it with her teeth and tongue. Ava’s breath comes in gasping pants as she rocks herself onto Deborah’s thigh and she feels lost in the sensation of Ava.
It hasn't felt like this in a long time, the undeniable want growing in her chest. She hasn't felt this driven about sex in the last decade easily, it's been something she does on a whim, or to get something from Marty. She’d certainly stop coming to expect it to feel like this. Like her whole body is screaming for Ava, Deborah wants to strip her apart piece by piece and hold her soul in her hands. Wants to tend to her every whim until she’s shivering and coming and safe in her arms. Wants and wants and wants in ways she has not let herself, especially for curves, breasts and hips, all youthful and feminine and everything she’s ever kept from herself.
“I was a fool to think if I sent you away I’d stop thinking about this,” Deborah admits once she’s had her fill of sucking over Ava’s tits, leaving several dark marks littered on her skin. Anything to make that possessive feeling abate.
“You thought about it too?”
It makes her smile a little, the way Ava digs around for more praise, moremoremore , anything, please tell me I’m doing good, please tell me you want me.
“How could I not?”
Deborah tilts her head up to kiss her again, just a soft peck against her mouth, hoping to soothe the restless energy Ava has pooling out of her. The eager rock of her hips, the desperate way she clings to Deborah as if at any moment she’ll disappear.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here with you,” she coos and Ava’s whole body sags. Folds into Deborah to rest her head against her chest. She encourages Ava’s hips with her hands as she rubs herself against the seam of her slacks and Deborah’s stomach. Let her hands skate across her bare sides, touching as much of her skin as possible.
“You made me leave ,” her voice is hoarse, thick with unshed tears.
“I know sweetheart. I’m sorry. I won’t make you leave again,” she assures and Ava sobs, shaking in her hands.
“Please, please touch me.”
Deborah is happy to oblige. She’s popping the button of her slacks and pushing them halfway down her thighs so she can slip her hand down the front of Ava’s underwear.
“ Deborah ,” Ava sighs, like the contact is a balm to her nerves.
Deborah slides her fingers between her lips, dipping lightly into her entrance to collect slick between her fingers before dragging them up to rub over Ava’s clit. She makes the tiniest, pinched sound of pleasure when Deborah finally touches her, and it spurs her on to rub firmly over the little bundle of nerves.
“O-ohfuck, yes .”
Ava’s voice is so soft, so delicate. What a privilege to have her like this, open and trusting, her wetness dripping down Deborah’s fingers, the panting breaths hot against her chest. It feels like holding the world in her arms.
“I’ve got you, I’m right here,” Deborah says, and Ava is squirming into the feeling of Deborah all around her. Her arm is slung possessively around Ava, the hand between her legs rubbing deft little circles over her clit, trying her best to keep her nails out of the way. (Why hadn't she thought of this, how badly she’d want to feel Ava clenching around her fingers, the silky warmth of her cunt. When they're done these nails need to get trimmed).
“You feel so good. So wet for me,” Deborah pants, running her hands through Ava’s hair gently, “My good girl.”
The moan that leaves Ava at the praise makes her chuckle darkly.
“You’re so easy, baby. You like that? You want to be my good girl?”
“Yes, yours , I wanna be good for you. Only you,” Ava whimpers.
“ ‘m so close,” Ava pants, like she’s searching for affirmation that it's okay.
“Let go, Ava,” Deborah purrs, turning her head to press a kiss to her sweaty forehead and she feels Ava twitch as she lets out a shuddering moan. Her hips jerk against her fingers Deborah can feel the tension release from her body as she sags into her body with her full weight.
“ Ohf-uckohfuck Deb,” Ava’s babbling as she comes and Deborah just strokes over her hair soothing her with little murmurs of praise. Slows the fingers between her legs as she jerks and squirms through the last waves of pleasure, until Ava is batting at her hands with an overstimulated whimper.
Ava pulls herself from the crook of Deborah’s neck, blinking up at her with glazed eyes. Deborah can’t help but kiss her, a soft thing, more about the closeness than the kissing. Lets herself get lost in the heady feeling of letting herself have something. Fully present in the moment that is Ava’s mouth and Ava’s hands on her cheeks, their breaths shared.
Deborah’s hands are working on getting her slacks the rest of the way off when she feels a little giggle against her lips. She pulls back to quirk an eyebrow. Ava looks a little crazy, her cheeks flushed with arousal, her hair mussed from Deborah’s attentions, her head tipping hack as she begins to laugh earnestly now.
“I’m sorry, I just- I can’t stop thinking about you saying Liberace did poppers on this thing.”
It’s such a genuine non-sequitur that Deborah’s barking out a laugh and then they’re devolving into a fit of giggles together on the same god damn couch Ava lied through her teeth on and pressed all of her buttons at once like a petulant toddler on an elevator and now they’re here . It’s so much, so good, and it’s not enough.
Deborah is pulling her into a hungry kiss and looping her arms around her hips to pull her flush and Ava is yelping in surprise before kissing her back hard. They get lost in it, one of those kisses that make you dizzy and when they pull back they’re both breathing heavily.
“Can I take you to bed now? Remembering Liberace’s loose butthole has sat here has ruined my want to be sitting on this couch,” Deborah says and Ava’s grinning wide and toothy and stupid and Deborah loves her. It’s a massive all encompassing feeling, eclipses any fear she has for what their future looks like. (She needs to tell her, but pairing it with Liberace’s b-hole feels cheap and awkward and Ava deserves romance).
“It would be my pleasure to accompany you to your quarters, ma’am,” Ava says, donning a regal english accent and saluting. She scoffs.
“What is wrong with you?”
“So much.”
Later, after Ava makes her cum with her tongue, her fingers and then her tongue again and Deborah has taken an intermission to cut her nails to return the favor. They find themselves curled in Deborah’s covers, both drifting in and out of true consciousness. Ava’s head is on Deborah’s chest and everything feels right in the world. (She thanks the universe, and Nadine for the good advice).
“D’you know how much shit you managed to leave on your way out of this house?” Deborah asks teasingly. They’d been lying quietly for a while now, just basking in the quiet of each other's presence. Deborah can feel better than she can hear Ava’s laugh, her shoulder shaking, her breath on her chest.
“I ummm…” she sounds horribly guilty, “don’t get me wrong I did probably genuinely forget a couple things but, I won’t lie I left some stuff to be petty. I was hoping it would make you reach out or something,” Ava admits with another nervous giggle, and Deborah puffs out an exasperated huff.
“It definitely did something ,” Deborah huffs. “ At first I didn’t reach out to be petty too, I just didn’t want to admit I missed you. Then when I realized that I did, I also realized just how much I hadn’t wanted to admit about you. Your goddamn scrunchie in my bed reminding me how much I let you into my life, how much I trust you. How much I wanted to call you to say come back. Don’t go. How selfish that would be.”
Deborah kisses her forehead, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. Ava smells like worn off Old Spice, sex, and vaguely like Black Pashmina from Deborah’s skin.
“You came out of nowhere, Ava. I don’t know why I chased you down that first day, just that you made me laugh. You didn't see me as someone to flatter or tiptoe around and that's not always something I can find. I don’t know why I’ve done almost anything when it comes to you but I don’t really care anymore.”
“You liiike me,” Ava singsongs, propping herself up to look Deborah in the eyes and she can’t hold it in anymore, not when she’s looking at her like that. Like Deborah’s hung the moon, hand picked the stars.
“I love you.”
It’s been a long time since she’s said that and meant it, longer still since it was well received. Ava breath hitches a little, tenses up like maybe she’s waiting on a punchline.
“Oh,” Ava breathes lightly “Oh wow, wait yeah! I love you too! Oh my god, what?” She’s rambling and nervous beyond belief and it's so endearingly Ava.
“You sure? You sound on the fence,” Deborah teases.
“No! I’m so positive! I think I’m shell shocked, is that a thing that can happen outside of a warzone?” She’s stopping herself and gazing up at Deborah.
“Wait hold on I’m blowing this let me try again,” Ava says, making a rewind motion with her hands.
“I love you too, D. I love you so fucking much,” she says, and tears are welling in her eyes as she laughs.
Deborah kisses her, soft and a little teary. Imagines a life in this house that is loud and full and happy . The kind that ruptures the seams and spills over with joy. Breakfast at the island, Ava eating something sweet and disgusting, a dog on each lap. Something good. Something kind. For once Deborah’s certain, she does not deserve to be lonely.
“You’re such a dumbass,” Deborah says softly as they part.
“You're the one who loves me, what does that say about you?”
“Something really good, I think.”